Fix You
by stumblesun
Summary: An amnesiac Claire, a convoluted plot to save the world, and a reformed serial killer. Typical. Sylaire.
1. Prologue

The man approaching the suburban house would have appeared tense to anyone who was watching him walk to the front door. The expression on his face seemed to be a mixture of relief, anxiety and worry; possibly explaining the quick steps up the stairs to the decent sized porch in front of the house.

The home he found himself at seemed to be an exact reflection of the girl he was visiting. The forty five minute drive to the suburban area outside of New York may have seemed like a long enough drive, but to the dark-haired man the trip seemed too short. As if the place was hidden right under his nose the entire time. At this thought he paused before he knocked on the door, rage filling his body and tensing further before he shook it off.

Peter Petrelli glanced at his surroundings. A brick path lined the front yard to the welcoming porch, a white picket fence lining the property is exactly how he always pictured a place where Claire would live. Probably because she was from Texas, he mused. No one he knew personally would be living in a place like this, as most city-dwellers would never be able to handle the open hominess of the house in front of him. Sparkling, crystal wind chimes hung from the top of the veranda and he just knew that Claire was inside.

He knocked abruptly, the sound appearing just as urgent as he felt. As the door swung open, however, Peter reared back in shock. It was certainly not Claire, and the expectations that his musings had brought crashed suddenly.

"Sylar?" Peter finally ground out, incredulously. The taller man didn't seem shocked at Peter's appearance at his front door. Rather, he glanced behind him worriedly before stepping out and slamming the door shut and locked behind him telekinetically. Gabriel "Sylar" Gray was dressed in surprisingly normal clothes- just a pair of dark faded jeans and a white t-shirt. Peter was having a hard time trying to put the pieces of this moment together with the conversation he had with his mother just a few hours earlier.

"_Just tell me where she is, Ma. I have a right to know. You shouldn't have kept this from us-" She interrupted him as she often did, smiling tightly. _

"_You have no idea, Peter. If you could have seen the future I saw, you would understand. She has been safe, will remain safe. She won't know you, she has a life now. A life without any of us." The answer did not placate the younger Petrelli. _

"_So you thought, what, exactly? That we'd all never find out? It's been years…Everyone…" Peter couldn't finish his sentence, just took a deep breath and continued. "I'm going to see her. If I have to track down Molly's ability to find her, I will. I need to explain, I need to know she's okay. I'm going to fix this." _

_Angela Petrelli stared her son down for a few moments before sighing. "There are some things you can't fix, Peter. Some things aren't broken. She's happy Peter. Know that before you go wrecking her life." _

_Peter walked out of the Petrelli mansion with an address scrawled neatly on a piece of stationary paper. A forty-five minute drive._

"Hello, Peter," Sylar's smile was tight, and before either of the two knew what happened Peter's fist launched towards the villain's face. As Sylar cradled his face, the door behind him creaked open. A blonde head of hair stuck out surveying the scene.

"Gabriel?" Claire called from the doorway. "What's going on? Who is this?" Peter scowled and moved toward her before he froze in place. He grit his teeth and found he could still speak.

"Claire, it's me. Peter." Claire looked confused, her eyes darting between the two men.

"Peter, my uncle, Peter?" Sylar shot her an indecipherable look, trying to communicate something through his eyes. Peter ignored this; joyful at the sign she remembered who he was. She still remained peeking out of the doorway.

"Yes, Claire, come on. I don't know why you're here but I'm going to take you home. I'm going to fix everything." Sylar had remained unusually silent up till now, carefully watching their interaction. At the mention of her leaving though, his head snapped to Peter.

"She's not going anywhere. She doesn't remember, and she belongs here." Though Peter was expecting this to be said with some form of malice or possession, the other man merely looked tired. Not to be persuaded differently, Peter turned back to Claire.

"Claire, come with me. You don't know…You couldn't possibly understand the position you're in right now. I'll take us back to your home, your family." The door swung open wider and Claire stepped out.

"Family," She repeated slowly. "Family that did this to me. Did this to all of us. Family that _left_ me, alone-"

"Claire," Sylar interrupted sharply. "He didn't remember either. He doesn't know what happened." Claire pursed her lips and shook her head. Peter found himself more confused than ever. He thought this would have been easy. Save the cheerleader. Coming to take her home and restore her memory would have been simple, but the appearance of the serial killer threw him off kilter. Suddenly finding himself at a loss of words- at Claire's response then Sylar's- he remained still with his jaw locked.

After a moment of silence Sylar sighed. "You better come inside, Peter. We have a lot to talk about."

Peter looked like he was about to protest before seeing the look on Claire's face. Her arms were crossed over her chest. He took her in for the first time in years and he found himself thinking she hadn't really changed all that much. Her hair was still long and blonde, bouncy curls that fell down past her shoulders. Her face had grown and matured and she carried herself stronger than before. He remembered the young teenage girl that was fighting for her independence tooth and nail, struggling to be somebody. The girl-no, he thought, woman- looked like she knew exactly who she was, like she knew her place and wouldn't have to fight like she did before. It was this that made him follow Sylar and Claire into the nice suburban home.

A few moments later he found himself seated in a living room that looked like something out of a Pottery Barn magazine. The idea itself made him sick. Did Sylar live here? Most of everything looked like Claire, a combination of girly and country. Little figurines and snow globes lined the shelves and tables. He could have easily convinced himself it was just Claire in this big house, except for the things he couldn't dismiss. The in-home office he could see from his seat on the couch was clearly masculine, covered with lights and clock pieces. Claire would never have organized a room like that.

Or the DVD collection next to the large, flat screen TV. Completely organized and possibly alphabetically arranged; something he knew Claire would never have had the patience for. He tried not to think of how Claire was affording all of this. From what he knew, both of her father's had always provided for her one way or another. She had never been alone, didn't have worldly experience. The thought weighed heavily on him. Did she even finish high school?

Claire and Sylar, who had said very little except to offer him a drink, sat across from him on another couch, communicating silently with each other. Finally Sylar turned to him, "I know you have a lot of questions Peter. We do too. Frankly, we still don't understand everything." Peter did not like the way Sylar was using the term "we". He felt like he was about to throw up.

"But what we do know is that Claire hasn't gained her memory in the past five years, and your mother won't say why." Sylar's lips pursed into a thin line. "I found her, after it had happened-"

"Claire you can't possibly understand!" Peter burst out, not being able to handle it. "The things he's done…He's a monster, Claire! He has killed so many people. He cut open your head. He terrorized you, attacked your family. Killed _innocent_ people. Tried to kill me." The desperation in his tone should have been enough to sway her.

"I know." Claire said calmly, looking at Peter dead in the eye. "He's told me. He's told me everything I don't remember." Sylar had put his face down in his hands, still silent. "But it doesn't matter. None of that matters." Claire reached over to the man next to her on the couch and it was then that Peter began to put the pieces together.

The mingling of the feminine and masculine, the framed pictures and now…

_Wedding bands_.

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****I really don't know why I started writing this, but I have a whole plot mapped out in my head. Just needed to get it out on paper! Thank you for reading :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Just so everyone is aware, I set the "Five Years Ago" parts somewhere in season three between Our Father and Dual. It's obviously AU from there on out, as the burning of Primatech and whatnot never happens. Sylar doesn't immediately attempt to kill Angela but bide his time. Everything else you'll see how it unfolded! Thank you for all the reviews! I have a lot of ideas for this story, so as long as people still want to read I'll keep writing. Thank you! :)**

**And to Annoying as Hell, you might be thinking of the story called "Forget Me Not" by BunnyKat. AMAZING story which everyone should have read already! (AND it just updated!). This is by no means supposed to resemble anything close to it at all! Though I have read (and loved) that story, this is not based on it nor should this story have any similarities. Enjoy and thanks again!**

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**Five Years Ago**

The man commonly known as Gabriel "Sylar" Gray walked through the streets of New York with a purpose. Even if you had not known of his recent past, you would still be able to discern that the man dressed in all black was dangerous. He was intimidating; his presence foreboding. Possibly subconsciously, the majority of the pedestrians managed to move out of his path as he walked confidently past them.

Sylar was, for lack of a better word, plotting. The cogs in his mind were quickly processing his next steps for revenge against the many that betrayed him. He was still reeling from the death of Elle and his supposed father figure Arthur Petrelli, but it didn't stop his need to continue, to get back at them. All of them. But revenge would take time, time and planning. It had already been a few weeks since he had killed Arthur, but he knew that biding his time would ultimately bring him the best success.

For now he was returning back to his beginnings, back to the only place he really had a family to begin with. Even if it was with a neurotic mother and a good for nothing dad- still more of a family than Angela Petrelli. His old watch shop was around the corner, his old apartment not too far from there. Part of him was screaming at him to not go back, to burn the places to the ground so there was no evidence of his past life at all. He owed his adoptive mother _nothing_, and this old pathetic life could be a nightmare of the past.

But another part of him, seemingly the bigger part as he was taking its advice, was telling him to stop by before he tried to extract revenge. Try to find any missing pieces or clues that would help him find his real parents.

So here he was, making his way through a crowded New York sidewalk to an abandoned shop and apartment to find what was most likely going to be a dead end when he really should have been figuring out the many ways to kill Angela Petrelli and Noah Bennet.

Sylar approached the front door of his shop, mildly pleased but not surprised to see that it has remained untouched. The sign on the door that said "CLOSED" was crooked, and dust lined the windows. He was having trouble trying to remember the last time he had been in his shop as just a watchmaker. Before he could unlock the door telekentically, he heard a noise to his left. Immediately he became suspicious, glancing around him. The small street that his shop was on was often empty as it was currently. Perhaps he was too suspicious already, too wary of noises like the one he just heard.

And there it was again, coming from the alley next to his shop. He debated his options for a few minutes before deciding to check the noise. It's not like he had much to fear, and it couldn't possibly be one of the heroes already coming after him. Too many issues to work out with each other for now.

The alley was dark, even for being the middle of the day. The garbage cans that lined the small pathway were dirty and smelled atrociously. He was about to turn back to his shop before he heard another noise. Getting frustrated he flung the garbage can to back of the alley with a wave of his hand.

He could have made a list of the most likely things he would have found in this alley, starting from the most probable to the least going past one hundred possibilities. What definitely would not have made this list is what he saw before him.

A small person with a large amount of blonde hair sat against the brick wall of the alley, not caring that she was sitting in a disgusting amount of filth and grime. Her head was down as if she didn't hear the garbage can being flung right next to her, or, most likely, was ignoring that it had just happened. Sylar recognized Claire immediately, and sensing that this was most likely a trap he gripped her telekinetically and flung her into the wall right behind her. Her face snapped up to his in fear and he saw her begin to shake.

Odd, he thought, considering the last time he saw her, her anger burned more than her fear of him. This whole moment was convenient, far too convenient. Plotting against Angela and Noah, and here their precious cheerleader falls into his lap. There is just no way.

"Why hello, Claire. Nice to see you again so soon. Where are your band of protectors, Claire? Are you supposed to be the bait?" As he stepped closer to her, the thought that this might be _another_ plot to manipulate him he grew angrier. He tightened his hold on her throat and she gasped.

"Please," Claire was shutting her eyes against him, tears rolling out the side. "Please, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have any money, I don't have anything." Her arms were gripping the wall next to her, and her whole body was trembling.

"Just tell me what you're doing here. Where is everyone else hiding, why are you here?" The fact she was avoiding his questions was not helping. Why was she pretending not to know him? What was she playing at?

"I don't have anyone else!" The blonde's eyes flew open to meet his in confusion and fear. "I don't know what you're talking about, just don't hurt me! I'm sorry, I'll leave, I didn't know I'd bother anyone here." Sylar loosened his grip on her, noticing that she was not lying to him. There was no ringing in his head, no tingling sensation like there was with Angela and Arthur to confirm her lies. She truly believed she didn't have anyone else.

"Claire, just tell me what you're doing here. How did you find me?" The younger girl noticed he no longer had a violent grip on her body and she leaned shakily against the wall she was just pressed against.

Ignoring his question she asked, "Do you know me? Is that my name, Claire?" As Sylar stepped closer to her, only a foot away now, he finally noticed something.

One of the things he hated most about Claire, their precious cheerleader, was how she reminded him of the exact girls that made his life a hell throughout his entire life. The pretty, popular girls always looking put together as if it took no effort at all. Being somewhat of nerd with clothes picked out by his mother (the word mother making his stomach turn), girls like Claire chewed him up and spat him back out daily. But this Claire was different than the girl he had always seen before. Even running or fighting for her life, Claire had always been put together. No matter how she regenerated, it seemed like her ability would fix all her flaws for her. Or maybe it was just who Claire was.

But this Claire was unlike the popular girl he attacked and met before. Her clothes were ratty, torn and falling off of her small frame. He was guessing that the large shirt she was wearing used to be white, but it was now a dirty grey color. The sweats she was wearing also seemed a few sizes too big, but the dark color hid any dirt or grime that might have been covering them. Her shoes seemed to be in fair condition, but the old tennis shoes looked like they had seen better days.

As he inspected her face closer, he noticed that she had probably not showered for some time. There was a layer of dirt caking her face, neck and hair. There were small trails through the dirt on her face where her tears had fallen down her cheeks. Her hair, which had once been perfect curls of gold, now hung limply around her face and shoulders. It was in knots in the back and looked almost greasy.

"I don't understand. What happened to you and _why are you here_?" The words seemed to be hissed lowly. Sylar was quickly losing his temper and was about to grip her throat when something unexpected happened. Claire leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him.

"Please, please help me. If you know who I am, just tell me a name so I can figure the rest out." Her voice was muffled against his chest and the whole situation, he decided, just got out of his hands. He could feel the wetness from her tears staining his t-shirt. Sylar flung her back against the wall and she yelped in fear. "Please," Claire tried again, "I don't know how I got here…You're the only person I've met that knows who I am. Just help me."

Sylar's brain worked furiously to process the information. He only knew of a few that could erase memories, all of whom were at the disposal of Angela Petrelli. Did she do this to her granddaughter? His plans for revenge seem to be falling into his lap. It was too easy, something is wrong.

It was silent except for Claire's heavy breathing and the noise of the city muffled from their position in the alley.

"We're going to pay a visit to your grandmother." He finally said, reaching over to grab her arm. "How long have you been here?"

She seemed surprised at his response to her plea, but answered anyway. "Over a week. Maybe two. I've been wandering around the city…" Claire bit her lip and avoided his eyes as he dragged them out of the alley. It was then she began to struggle a little bit, "Wait! I don't know you….what's your name?" Sylar paused, then scowled when he realized why he was hesitating. He was debating between the name _Sylar_ or _Gabriel_. The name Gabriel brought back too many memories of the girl's grandmother, though, and he settled with a short, "Sylar."

As they reached the street, Sylar heard her stomach growl in hunger. He hesitated, part of him wanting to help and the other, bigger part, wanting her to suffer for the crimes of her family. But Claire didn't even seem to notice or feel it at all, not even commenting on the noise.

It was this that changed his mind. He knew she had somehow blocked the pain after he ripped the ability from her head. The encounter with the vortex that Stephen Canfield left for them to face let him know more about her than he ever had wished to. He knew how much that Claire hated him, hated to appear weak in front of him. That Claire would never have asked for help, especially from him.

But this Claire was different. She didn't look like she had acknowledged the hunger at all. It made him wonder when the last time she really ate was. Her ability allowed her allowances like that, ones that normal people wouldn't take for granted. It was partly the reason he resented her so much. She took her ability for granted far too often.

As Sylar thought about the past few moments, he realized she might not even know she had an ability. Might not even know how he had flung her against the wall at all. The thought made him pause, and he redirected their path.

Claire, noticing the change in direction, asked, "Where are we going?"

"To my apartment first." Claire looked surprised at this.

"Why? I thought we were going to see my grandmother. Do you know my whole family? Why haven't they-" Sylar snapped her jaw shut.

"Stop asking so many questions, please." He sighed as they continued walking through the streets to his apartment only a few blocks over. Claire, looking worse in the bright sunlight, drew a few odd looks as he dragged her behind him. "I don't know what's going on, but we're going to find out. I'm not going to drag you around looking like a homeless person. In the end, it'll just raise more questions and hassle for me." He smirked as she cringed at the insult. Some things don't change, including a girl's pride and vanity. Claire remained silent as his arm gripped her, walking fast through the crowds of people. His longer strides had to be evened out with the quick little ones she was taking. He had never really noticed before how small she really was compared to him. Flinging her around had always been almost too easy, as easy as dragging her behind him.

Just like with his shop, Sylar could not remember the last time he had been in his apartment. The building itself was old, the stairs creaky and the wall paper drab. It looked exactly like the kind of place a pathetic watchmaker could afford. The notion made his stomach turn and his grip on Claire tightened. She didn't protest and he wondered if she could even feel it.

"When was the last time you ate?" He asked, pushing her inside the apartment. The question came out of his mouth before he even realized it. He had been wondering about the condition she was in. Why had no one taken her in? Where was her family? Her family would have been looking for her surely, this whole time.

That thought triggered another. _Leverage_. If Angela and Noah were, in fact, not behind this whole charade but someone else entirely and it was _coincidence_ that she happened to be in the alley next to his shop (his brain meanwhile shot off to calculate the probability of _that_), then her family was looking for her. Waiting for her. Would do _anything_ to get her back. The possibilities were endless, it seemed. He stored this thought process away until he figured out what was going on.

The question startled her, as many things it seemed were doing in the past hour he had been in her company. Loud noises, people walking by, his voice when she didn't expect it. It took a while to adjust to this Claire. He was used to the girl that fought him at every turn, trying to _kill_ him most of the time. He was used to the girl that stabbed him in the chest with a kitchen knife, not this scared pathetic girl in front of him. Sylar was instantly reminded of his time as an agent, partner to her father. How she didn't approve of sending him into a vortex, how he told her how similar they were- that her father would never see their humanity. That was another side of Claire he wasn't used to.

She hesitated before answering, as if just now realizing how long it had been since she had eaten. Or showered, he added silently to himself. Claire finally settled with, "A while, I guess. I don't remember. I don't feel hungry, really. I haven't noticed."

Sylar rolled his eyes, pushing her further inside the apartment. Looking around, he realized little had changed. The place was still bare, full of books and plastic-covered furniture. He doubted he had any food left, and if he did it was guaranteed to be spoiled. Take out, he thought to himself. Sylar could feel how hungry he was now that he thought about it. Chinese or pizza? He quickly decided Chinese was probably faster as it was a block away.

He guided her to the bathroom, turning on the shower and grabbing a towel out for her to use. Her face looked up at him in gratitude, and before he could turn around to leave she placed a hand on his arm. He stopped and stared down at her.

"Thank you," Claire said softly, "I don't know why you're doing this…and I don't know who you are really, or how you know me…." She bit her lip before wrapping her arms around him and stepping into him, "But thank you. I needed help…a friend. I owe you so much." Sylar froze, not wanting to accept her kindness or gratitude. He didn't want to think about _why_ he was letting her use his shower. Or why he brought her back to his old apartment and not just knocked her out and dragged her back to her grandmother to deal with.

Claire led the hug linger while Sylar stood there stiffly. He pushed her away after a moment, but she managed to see him nod curtly before closing the bathroom door behind him.

She couldn't help but think he was totally her hero.


	3. Chapter 2

The blonde girl stepped gingerly out of the grimy clothes she had been wearing for far too long. The bathroom the man had shown to her was small, but it was working, clean and had running water; a lot more than she was used to in the past two weeks. Staring at herself in the small mirror above the sink, she began to scrutinize her appearance.

There was nothing extraordinary looking back at her, nothing remotely familiar to trigger any memories. Just a young girl squinting back at her. Briefly Claire (that's her name, right? It's what the man-Sylar-called her) wondered how old she was, not for the first time. The past two weeks had been disorienting enough and the onslaught of details this stranger brought to her made her life that much more confusing.

Somehow him finding her, discovering her in that place, was nothing short of a miracle. It was destiny, fate. Claire wanted to give up, but the notion of dying scared her more than living on the streets. The police couldn't help her, didn't want to help her find her family. If she had a family? Claire shook her head; the many questions circling around in her mind weren't helping. She just had to be patient. But, she was discovering, patience wasn't really her strongest suit.

Claire stepped into the shower, relishing the warm water that had already started to wash away the filth covering her body. She didn't know how long she spent in the shower, but it didn't really matter. The shampoo was a basic, off brand type that something told her she wasn't used to. But that didn't make sense either, because Claire couldn't remember the last time she actually showered, let alone used nice shampoo. She sighed in confusion, before stepping out the shower.

The mirror was fogged up as she wrapped the towel around herself. Claire glanced down at the dirty clothes on the floor (moderately embarrassed at the lack of underwear) and grimaced. If she could help it, she was not going to put those clothes back on. Maybe she could borrow something….?

Stepping out of the bathroom, she wandered down the hallway Sylar had dragged her down. She heard noises coming from the front of the apartment and realized he was in the small kitchen she had seen earlier. When she stopped in the doorway, he was reaching in a cabinet for plates. After setting them down on the counter next to what looked like take-out, she realized he still hadn't noticed her.

"Sylar?" He glanced up at her before freezing. Claire blushed when she met his eyes, tightening the towel around her body. She was grateful that it wasn't too short and actually covered most of her.

"Jesus Christ, Claire," He looked angry as he turned away, "Put some fucking clothes on." Her blush deepened.

"I just…I didn't want to put those clothes back on. I was wondering….I mean, I know it's a lot to ask but-"

Sylar just shook his head and smirked, "Still a princess, I see." Noticing her blank stare he rolled his eyes. "Should just make you put those clothes back on," he muttered to himself, walking past her to the bedroom. She followed silently behind him as he continued to grumble under his breath, "Not like any of my clothes are going to fit, anyway."

Claire could tell something was wrong with the man that rescued her. He seemed like he had a short temper, like her mere presence was bothering him on some level she couldn't understand. But he didn't _have_ to bring her back here, didn't have to let her shower. He apparently knows where her grandmother is, he could have just dumped her off with one of her relatives. But he didn't. He let her use his shower, was going to feed her and give her his clothes. The kindness was overwhelming after being on her own for what seemed like forever.

As they reached the bedroom, she watched him rifle through drawers of meticulously folded clothes before pulling out a few items of clothing and throwing them on the bed. Claire watched him silently, still gripping on to the towel around her. She took the time while he was searching for clothes to really look at him.

He was older, possibly by ten to fifteen years older than her (however old _that_ was). And he was _tall_. When he had her backed up in the alley (which she had to ask him about later- how did he do that?), he towered over her. Sylar wasn't largely muscular, but she could tell that he was still powerful in some way. Not through brute strength, but something else entirely. And he was handsome. Claire, try as she might, couldn't honestly dismiss that fact. He looked like a stereotypical bad boy, the kind of guy you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley.

Except she _did_ meet him in a dark alley, and he turned around to save her life. So what did that seem to say about him? She could tell he was just as confused as she was, and the looks of pure hostility and malice directed her way sometimes threw her off. He seemed to be thrown off every time he did something nice for her, as if his own actions confused him. Seeing as the first thing he did was _attack_ her, maybe they had some history she is clearly out of the loop from.

Claire jerked back to reality when she realized he had been calling her name. When she blushed again, it looked like he wanted to roll his eyes at her again. He restrained himself, barely. "These clothes should fit. Just make them work and get dressed. Come back to the kitchen after you're finished, I ordered Chinese." Claire nodded at his instructions as he slammed the door behind him. His volatile moods were giving her a headache. Was he always like this? Would she get used to it? Was she going to be around long enough to get used to it? Part of her hoped so.

The clothes he had put out for her were thoughtful, at least in her opinion. He clearly acknowledged her lack of undergarments, and set aside a small looking white wife beater and pair of boxers. Claire quickly put those on under the plain grey shirt and black sweats he provided. The clothes, like her others, were practically falling off of her. She rolled up the pants at the waist and ankles, before giving up feeling ridiculous.

Making her way back to the kitchen, she saw he had already set the food out on plates on one of the counters. Sylar was standing by the sink with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at what looked like nothing. Claire couldn't help but think he looked…well, dangerous. But he hadn't hurt her so far, hadn't taken advantage of her in any way. She walked toward him, clearing her throat.

"Food," He nodded at her, grabbing the other plate for himself. He ate standing and it was then she noticed a lack of a table. She grabbed the other plate from the counter and when the smell of Chinese chicken and rice hit her nose she salivated.

She wasn't lying when she said she wasn't sure when the last she had eaten was. She hadn't honestly been hungry, hadn't even thought of it. At the time she had way more to try to deal with than figuring out how to get food. Thinking back, there could be no reason for her to not have been starving almost daily…maybe it was some survival instinct? Forgetting the train of thought, she dug in with the fork he left on the counter.

"So," Claire said after she swallowed a bite, "You know my grandmother?" Sylar glared over at her over his food, but seeing him casually eat his Chinese didn't frighten her. She felt the urge to fight off a smile. Noticing her lack of fear, he rolled his eyes at her again before laughing to himself. Claire thought he had a pleasant laugh.

"I know her too well. You could say I'm almost like a son to her." His lips contorted into a thin line at his last statement. Wanting to make the conversation lighter again, she laughed lightly.

"Well I hope not. That would make you my uncle, now, wouldn't it?" Snapping his gaze to hers, he studied her intently. Then he smirked, finding her comment amusing. Pushing onward she said, "But you know her pretty well?"

"I know your whole family, Claire." He did not sound too pleased with that, either.

"How do you know them? Who else is in my family?" She couldn't eat too much of the food in front of her, and after taking a few bites let the plate rest back on the counter. The curiosity was also twisting at her stomach, making her anxious and excited. After being lost and confused, without answers or direction or purpose, for what seemed like forever, anything he told her would make all the difference.

His demeanor changed. Sylar no longer looked like the situation was funny to him, if it ever was, but rather a malicious and angry expression came over his face. "Your family… we're not exactly on the best of terms." Finishing his plate, he shoved it into the sink and turned on the faucet. Claire waited for him to speak again, twirling a piece of freshly cleaned hair around her finger. It felt nice, softer than it had been and much cleaner.

"Your family has played a key role in shaping who I am today." Somehow the statement didn't seem to possess the good intentions like it sounded.

"That doesn't sound too bad…" Claire responded slowly, cautiously. The look he threw her was malevolent. She threw her hands up in defense. "I just mean you seem like a nice person. If my family helped you to get here I don't see the harm." Sylar looked like he was waiting for something, and after a second he stared at her incredulously.

"You think I'm a _nice_ person?" He began to laugh, loudly. Claire felt a little silly at her lack of understanding the joke. "Oh, Claire. I cannot _wait_ till you get your memories back. You are going to hate yourself forever for this moment." As his laughter slowed, he met her confused look before he added, "And when I say forever, I do mean forever."

Claire still didn't get what was funny, but she dropped it with a sigh. "Alright, well, please then. If you think my family can help me then take me back to them. Help me get my memories back." At her words, he was suddenly in her face, his posture tense and his face angry.

"Stop trying to tell me what to do, cheerleader. I may be helping you but it is _not_ for your benefit. If you try to manipulate me one more time into doing what you say then I'm going to kick you out and let New York have you. Do you understand?" Sylar was towering over her and she swallowed the knot of fear in her throat.

"Yes," She spoke softly, "I understand. I'm sorry. You've been…generous. Too generous. I didn't mean to tell you what to do. I just need you. I need your help." Sylar continued to lean over her for a moment, his head cock to the side as if waiting for something once again.

"You're not lying," He looked confused as he said it, staring her down. She nodded slowly in confusion at his reaction.

"Of course I'm not. Why would I lie to you after all you've done for me?" Sylar snorted before backing away from her. Claire followed him with her eyes but stayed leaning against the counter. "And how did you know I'm not lying?"

Sylar began tidying up the kitchen compulsively. "I just do. Call it a talent." Claire shrugged and continued to watch him, another question rolling around in her mind.

"You called me 'cheerleader'….am I a cheerleader? Am I still in high school?" Sylar wiped down the counter and placed her barely eaten food in the trash before putting the plate in the sink. He hesitated before he answered.

"I don't really know, to be honest. You were when we first met." Sylar smiled to himself at this comment, then he shrugged, "And I don't know if you're still in school. Last I heard yes, but you might've graduated by now. Angela will know."

"Angela?"

"Your grandmother." Sylar began washing the dishes. Claire thought of her first impression of him from just a few hours ago. He was scary, dangerous, menacing. But here he was, washing her dishes and feeding her and providing her clothes.

"What other family do I have?" Sylar stopped washing the dish to turn and look at her. The scrutinizing look he was giving her made her uncomfortable but she met his stare.

"You were adopted. Like me." The grip he had on the plate broke it in half, slicing his hand open. Blood poured out of a deep gash along his palm and he dropped the remaining shards of the plate. Claire gasped, reaching for his hand and turning on the faucet without thinking.

"We need first aid or a band aid or something!" She started to panic, looking around the room frantically. Sylar shook her off of him before turning off the running water.

"Claire, calm down. I'm fine. Look." He raised his hand palm upwards where the cut had been a few moments before. Claire stared at the perfect, unbroken skin in confusion; running her hand along his. Her fingers traced where the cut had been as she inspected his much larger hand.

"What…but how did you do that? It was just there….You healed!" Claire looked up at him in amazement, not letting go of his hand. Claire knew there was something different about him. He wasn't like the other people she had encountered out in New York. He was distinctive, powerful. Just different.

Sylar smirked at her, realizing she was still unaware of her own power.

"It's an ability. Part of evolution, I can regenerate…among other things." As he stared down at her, he debated telling her about her own ability. About where he got this one.

Then Claire did something unexpected. Sylar shouldn't have been surprised, based on her actions toward him so far, but he was. Claire tightened her hold on his hand within hers and squeezed. "That's amazing, Sylar. That's so special. _You're_ special."

Looking at her smiling face staring up at him, he smiled back.

Claire held his gaze for a few more moments, and Sylar's smile faded. He realized she was waiting for him to say something, maybe to explain or say thank you. But he couldn't find any words and realized now was not the time.

Right _now_ they should be heading to visit Claire's grandmother. The notion killed his smile, and the moment, completely. He ripped his hand away from hers and scowled, angry at himself for feeling guilty at the hurt look that crossed her face.

But he couldn't help it. _This_ Claire was too different, too unpredictable. He didn't know what Claire was like before she ever met him, before she ever learned about her powers. And how was he supposed to treat her? At first she was his prey, and then she was The One That Got Away, then his victim before finally becoming his (temporary) niece. He knew too much about her for her to know nothing about him.

Sylar, for some reason, felt….sympathy for her. Connected. He could understand her in this situation. She has been manipulated by someone, forced to be something she's not by forces she can't control. This revelation was startling and the grudge he was still holding against her was slowly fading. They were in the same boat, for now. Until she regained her memories.

"Come on," He said gruffly, pushing past her towards the door. "We're going to see your grandmother. She has a lot of explaining to do."

Claire stared after him for a moment, trying to understand his volatile mood swings once again. Realizing he was about to leave without her, she followed quickly behind him. She knew he wouldn't answer, or maybe couldn't answer, if she asked the reasons behind his actions. Part of her almost didn't want to know what had happened in their past to make him so wary of her.

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Thanks everyone for reading and for those that reviewed! It's lovely to know that people are interested in seeing this story continue. Reviews are always welcome, but regardless thanks for taking the time to read this anyway! :)


	4. Chapter 3

Claire crossed her arms over her chest as they waited on the side of the street to hail down a cab. Or rather, for Sylar to hail down a cab. The anticipation was building up, making her body shake with jitters. Claire was, for the first time she could remember, really nervous. She was about to find out who she was…find out her home. Find out what had happened to her and who did this and who exactly Sylar was. The cab ride to her grandmother's felt like it would last an eternity.

After a cab pulled over to the side, Sylar grabbed on to her arm to direct her into the cab. She noticed his grip had changed from the first time he had grabbed on to her in the alley. No longer was his grip tight and threatening, but now it seemed more…guiding. Helpful. Claire liked it, the firmness he was holding her with. She felt a sudden pang at the thought she hadn't had any interactions with another person since she woke up smack in the middle of Central Park.

Claire slid into the seat next to him as he gave the cab driver directions. Sylar leaned back in the seat and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Seeing an opportunity for conversation, Claire turned toward him eagerly.

"How do you know where she lives?" Claire asked, "Have you been there before?" Sylar smirked, dropping his hand from his face.

"Not exactly." He hesitated before continuing, "I just know a lot about your family." The way he said "your" sounded a little bitter to Claire's ears and she decided to switch the topic. She wasn't stupid, and she didn't want to offend the first friend she had made.

Friend? She found herself musing. Claire supposed that Sylar is definitely the closest to one she could remember, but she still didn't know him that well. He could be a serial killer for all she knew.

"Are we friends?" Sylar looked at her in confusion before she elaborated. "You know, before you found me. Were we friends then? Are we friends now? Seems like we didn't really end on good terms from how you reacted to seeing me."

Oh, God. Sylar really did not want to be having this conversation with her. Could she really not leave well enough alone? Was she always this curious? Sylar instantly remembered the vortex situation, how she went off on her own to hunt the guy down. Yes, he answered his own internal question. She really was that curious.

"Not exactly…" Sylar told her slowly, thinking through the number of ways he could portray their old relationship. "We don't get along." He settled with something vague, knowing when she got her memories back she'd appreciate his honestly at the very least. Sylar realized he could take advantage of the innocence she has now, the absolute faith and trust she has seemingly placed on him to take care of her for this short journey. But he didn't. Hell, he didn't even _want_ to take advantage of her. Which was odd, different. Sylar had no moral qualms about doing it before, would have relished in it probably a week ago.

But now it's different and he knew it. He wanted answers from Angela, wanted to know the truth and wanted her to pay. And he wanted to know how Claire wound up falling into his life again.

"We get along now just fine, though." Claire smiled at him, and her voice broke his train of thought.

"We'll see." Was the only thing he could offer in response. Her smile grew and she settled back into the seat of the old cab. The rest of the cab ride passed by in relative silence as both Claire and Sylar wound up in their own train of thoughts.

The car pulled up to a tall building in an upper class neighborhood of upstate New York. Claire immediately felt inadequate as she stepped out of the car. She glanced around, feeling as if anybody passing by would call the police knowing she was homeless. But before her anxiety really took hold, Sylar was holding her arm again and leading her up the steps to the front door. He knocked solidly, as if annoyed he even had to do so.

"Should've just broken in. Maybe she would've seen _that_ coming." Sylar muttered under his breath, forgetting for a moment Claire had no idea what he was talking about. He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. She looked scared, nervous. Excited maybe, underneath the frightened look on her face. Sylar understood her, knew why she had such high hopes for this. He almost didn't want to take her here, where he knew her family would just destroy her all over again. Just like they destroyed him. The grip on her arm tightened for a second and she looked up at him with a small smile.

The door swung open. A man a little older than Sylar, but much shorter, stood in front of them with a shark-like smile.

"Can I help you?" Nathan Petrelli had on his politician smile, but it hardly did anything to mask his suspicion. He didn't like people-especially people that looked as if they'd mug him in an alley if given the chance- showing up on his doorstep. Did the press leak his address? He scowled to himself, wondering who these people were and what they were doing. But they could be potential voters, he justified to himself, and his polite smile stayed on.

Sylar, on the other hand, was reeling. Nathan too? Jesus Christ, how many people did Angela Petrelli think she could mind-swipe? His anger grew, but not by much. He didn't care about Nathan Petrelli. Last he saw he was trying to _create_ specials. As if you can go against nature. Sylar knew these abilities made people special, better. You can't just create them and think you'll be on the same playing field.

Sylar wished with almost all his being that he could slit Nathan Petrelli's throat right then and there in the doorway. Who cares if he didn't remember? He was still a sick politician bastard undeserving of the family that had just been ripped away from him. He was about to raise his hand when Claire spoke.

"Hi," She said brightly, stepping forward a little out of Sylar's reach. "My name is Claire. We're looking for someone-" Sylar instantly realized a few things.

Claire didn't know that this man was her father, and likewise, he had no idea she was his daughter. Claire telling him she was looking for her _grandmother_ would complicate a few things.

"Angela Petrelli. She's expecting us." Sylar cut in before things could get out of hand and Claire continued to smile shyly. Nathan looked back and forth between the two before nodding slowly.

"Wait here for just a second. She's in the office…I'll go check to see if she's available." Sylar rolled his eyes as Nathan turned around, shutting the door behind him. He could easily break down that stupid piece of door, tear apart everything in his path. Pin Nathan _and_ Angela down and rip open their skulls for their abilities. But just as he was losing his patience, Claire put her hand in his for the second time.

"I'm nervous." She wasn't looking at him, instead staring at the door intently. Sylar didn't say anything and left her hand within his own.

The door swung back open a minute or so later, Nathan smiling the same politician smile back at them. "Come on in."

Sylar stepped through first, his hand still holding onto Claire's. Nathan led them through the large house to the back where the office supposedly was. He stopped outside the door and gestured inside.

"She's right in there." Nathan gave them a polite smile before turning and leaving them to their business. It wasn't unusual for his mother to have visitors or guests, but the two seemed to be a far cry from the upper elite women that usually stopped by.

"Thank you," Claire smiled at him once again before stepping eagerly past Sylar to open the door. Sylar held her back before she could reach and she stared up at him.

"Let me go first." Sylar wasn't even sure how he was feeling. A mixture of rage and confusion, definitely. Partly murderous, and maybe a small part of him was…disappointed. Angela had given him a family, a purpose. Then she ripped it away from him and he had to find out from _Bennet_ of all people. Sylar was sick of being manipulated, sick of being seen as less than human when he was so much more than that. Sick of being seen as a monster.

As the door creaked open Claire once again grabbed on to his hand. Sylar wasn't surprised this time, wasn't even surprised Claire was that type of person that needed physical assurance.

Angela Petrelli was seated at a large wooden desk in what looked like a small home office library. Everything seemed orderly, masculine. Sylar surmised it was probably Nathan's office, and Arthur's before him. He glowered.

Claire's heart beat skipped in anticipation upon looking at her. The woman in front of her looked…classy. If she had to choose a word. Elegant, refined. There was no way Claire could be related to her. Her dark hair was cut short around her face, her clothes clearly high class designer. Claire became instantly aware of her own unsuitable clothes. The woman's jewelry sparkled in the sun that streamed through the window behind her, and Claire could only guess that the jewels were real. Her grip on Sylar's hand tightened.

"Hello, Claire." Her smile was tight, "Gabriel."

Gabriel? Claire looked between Sylar and her grandmother. Was that his real name?

"Do not call me that." His voice dropped to a hiss as he took a step towards her. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now."

Claire's jaw dropped. Who was _this_ character now holding onto her hand? He hardly resembled the man that was taking care of her earlier.

"Sylar, what are you _talking_ about? That's my grandmother!" Claire yanked on his hand and he spun around to face her.

"Claire, stay out of this." Angela was watching both of them amused. Claire had no idea why, considering Sylar had just threatened to murder her. And he could probably do it, too. He was menacing, terrifying when he was acting like this.

Claire was at a loss for words and turned back to the older woman in front of her. "Are you really my grandmother?" Sylar glared at her, angry to be interrupted but remained silent. He was curious to hear her response.

Angela smiled at her. "It is a bit complicated, dear. Would you please wait outside the door while your friend and I talk?" Claire stared at her dumbfounded.

This woman could not possibly be related to her. If she was her grandmother, wouldn't she care that she had been missing for almost two weeks? Shouldn't she be surprised for her to turn up at her doorstep? With a guy that threatened to kill her?

Claire did not understand. Why wasn't she confused as to why she couldn't remember? Did she not realize?

"But-"

"Claire, please." Angela gestured to the door. "We'll be with you in a moment. Gabriel and I need to have a talk first." Claire glanced up at Sylar and he nodded, staring still at Angela. Claire sighed, squeezing his hand before letting go. Angela's gaze stared at the interaction, but her face remained impassive. Sylar turned his head to watch her go until the door shut behind her. He waited a moment before turning to face the older woman.

"You have a lot to explain, Angela." Angela smiled tightly and gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk from her.

"Have a seat, Gabriel." Sylar shook his head.

"You don't get to call me that. Not anymore. Gabriel is gone." Sylar's voice was low, and Angela could feel the anger and the despair in the tone. "Gabriel," He sneered the name, "disappeared the moment I found out about your little scheme." Sylar started to pace around the office. He glanced at Angela with a short laugh, "What, did you think I would never find out? That I would be your puppet forever? That I would think I was your _son_ forever?"

"Of course not." Angela's face looked partly guilty, and it was that expression which made him all the more angry. "I needed you. I needed you to be better…and I thought….giving you a purpose would benefit everybody. Look how much you accomplished, all the things you were able to do. You had a family, people that supported you."

"And then you _took it away_!" Sylar's shout escaped him before he could control himself. He waited a second before continuing, "You gave me a purpose then ripped it from me. You gave me a family I always wanted, then tore it from me. Did you even see me as a son?" Sylar stared at her for a moment. "Don't answer that. I know you didn't."

Angela was not proud of her actions. She hardly was anymore, the lines of moral and immoral had been blurred for decades now. She had needed Sylar on her side, and she was not ashamed of how she had gone about it. But she knew it wasn't fair, it would never be fair. No explanation for her actions would be enough to explain to the man before her why she and The Company continued to ruin his life.

"For what it is worth, I am sorry." Sylar stared at her incredulously and she powered on before he could interrupt. "I know you can tell if I was lying. You know that I am. I can't change what has happened, but I can give you something else."

"I don't want anything from you, Angela." Sylar smirked, "Except maybe your head on a platter." Angela had the decency to look scared.

"I can tell you who your real parents are. I can tell you where to find your father."

Sylar stared at Angela intently, everything seemed to stop whirling in his mind. She continued, "It will be fair. You leave me alone, my family alone, and I give you your real family. I'll give you the files The Company has on you, no one will come after you. I swear." It didn't feel right, how good it felt to hear her beg for her life. Beg for her family.

"Why do I not believe you? Why would you do that?" Sylar approached the desk, scrutinizing her face.

"It doesn't matter why I would do it. I just will. For my life, for my protection and for my family's protection."

"Family." He said the word slowly. "Like Claire is your family? What are you going to do about her?"

Angela's face tightened. "That is complicated. Do we have a deal or not? You will never find out where he is without me. You'll never know, it's not on any files anywhere. You can tell if I'm lying."

Sylar hesitated before nodding. "Fine. I leave, with my file, to find my father. If anything goes wrong I come back and slaughter your whole family."

Angela looked relieved, "We have a deal, then."

"And Claire?" Sylar couldn't help but ask, thinking about the young girl waiting just outside the door.

"I was saving her life, everyone's life. I did what I had to."

"By erasing her entire life? Erasing her from her family? Does Bennet even remember her?" Not like he cared, but family was beginning to be a sore subject for everyone. Angela remained silent. Sylar shook his head, wanting to laugh in her face about her own self-righteousness. But he didn't. Instead,

"How exactly did you do it? Her ability should be able to repair the damaged memory loss. You erased her whole life." Sylar couldn't help but be curious. He wanted to know how it worked.

"The Haitian. And a telepath. Her memories are gone and her brain won't bring them back, won't even try." Angela's voice was flat, as if she was done with the conversation and was waiting for him to leave.

"Well what are you going to do with her? Now that I've brought her back."

"Oh, she's not staying here." Angela looked surprised, her face confused. "She'll be leaving with you."

"She's not coming with me."

"I don't care where she goes. She can't stay here. Bring her back to where you found her."

Sylar knew that Angela was cruel, knew that she manipulated everything around her for her own benefits. But he had thought that she placed her own family above everything else, that she would have cared about Claire more than this. "She was on the streets. She has nothing."

"She'll survive, Sylar. You of all people know that. She can live through anything. If you feel so inclined to help her out, then do so. Otherwise let her be. It's for the best." Sylar's anger rose once again.

"Why do you get to decide what is for the best and what isn't?" Sylar curled his fists into balls, resisting the urge not to rescind on their deal and throw a ball of electricity at her face.

"I dreamt it. I know; this is how to save her life." Angela got up from her chair and went to rifle through a file cabinet behind her. She pulled out a thick file and kept searching before pulling out another.

"Here," She walked around the desk and handed him the two folders. "Your file and all the information we have on you." Angela then reached over for the pad of paper on her desk and a pen before scribbling down in elegant scrawl a name and an address.

"You will find your father here. Now leave, please. Leave us alone." Sylar yanked the paper from her and turned away to leave out the door he came.

Angela watched him go before falling into a chair in front of the desk. She placed a hand over her eyes, wishing that there had been an alternative to the events that had unfolded. She knew her dreams, knew the devastating consequences if everything didn't work out. But she knew she had to try. To save everyone, including Claire. And Gabriel.

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Thanks everyone for the reviews!


	5. Chapter 4

Sylar resisted the urge to slam the door shut behind him. As he stepped out into the hallway of the ornate (and overdone, in his opinion. He was always a fan of _simple_.) mansion, he glanced around for Claire. He spotted her down the hallway, staring at framed pictures hung on the wall. He made his way over to her, about to say something before he stopped and saw what she was looking at.

The framed pictures looked like professional family photos. Nathan's wedding, a family portrait, Christmas. Even photos that looked as if they should have been candid looked professionally done. Sylar wanted to burn each one in the stupid, expensive frames they were in. But he looked at Claire and changed his mind. She looked…wishful. Sad, mostly. But a small part of her liked the overdone cheesiness in each picture, he could tell.

Sylar noticed a lot of pictures of Nathan; political photos that maybe were once his campaign ads. He noticed many with Nathan and Peter, the two men constantly close in every picture together. He pushed down a wave of jealousy at the closeness the brothers shared, before inspecting the others. There were a few of the two men with Angela, and only one of the whole family of four. Claire was eating all of them up, probably imagining what it had been like to grow up here.

Back in Costa Verde, he remembered, they had tons of pictures like this. And in Texas, too. He wondered if they were still there, or if Angela had gotten rid of everything of Claire's. Thinking of Costa Verde reminded him that he should probably stop in at some point to see what Noah Bennet was up to. Maybe. If he hadn't gotten his memory erased as well. He brought his attention back to Claire.

"There's none of me." Claire said softly. It looked like her eyes were attempting to memorize the faces in each picture. "They don't even look like me. Dark hair, dark eyes." She glanced up at him before adding, "You fit in better than I would." He wanted to be mad at her comment, but the conversation with Angela left him drained.

He settled with, "I thought so too." Claire looked puzzled and he continued, "It's a long story. But you don't belong here, Claire. Let's go."

"But my grandmother…I thought I was going to talk to her. I thought she would want to see me." Claire looked sad, confused. For once Sylar didn't want to be the guy to deliver this bad news.

"Your grandmother is…" His mind searched his entire vocabulary to find the right word. "Complicated. I can explain later, but right now we're getting out of here." Claire wanted to protest, but the way he grabbed her arm, gently, and the way he glanced behind him with a look of muted angry made her stop her protests. This man had done nothing but look out for her so far, and if he thought it would be best to leave then she would agree.

"But you'll explain later, right?" She didn't want to leave without answers at the very least. The taller man nodded. "Promise?" She halted in her tracks, waiting for his confirmation. Sylar stared down at her and a moment passed before he said, "I promise. Now let's go."

As they exited the mansion, Sylar saw no sign of Nathan again. Nor Peter for that matter. He briefly wondered if Peter had gotten away. The boy scout always had a way of escaping situations like these, ending up alright. But at the moment Sylar was trying to think of a contingency plan. He had assumed Angela would have taken Claire back and looked after her. Sylar was unexpectedly left with her company, and the options of what to do were endless.

Part of him was wondering why he didn't just leave her on the street again. What did he really owe Claire Bennet? The answer hit him like a brick. His ability, of course. Her ability. A part of her that he stole and could never give back, even if he wanted to. And once again he was reminded of the weakness, sadness and anger he felt through her while he saved her life from the vortex. And though he knew he didn't have to, part of him _wanted_ her along for the ride.

Immediately he decided Claire would accompany him to meet his real father. He didn't want to be alone to do this, didn't feel like he could really face the man who abandoned him to Virginia and Martin Gray. But Claire would be there. Innocent Claire who would only understand as much as he would let her.

As the duo waited for a cab to pull over, Claire inspected the large house. For a few moments, a wave of loneliness passed over her. It was different before, when she didn't know she had anyone. When she didn't know there were people out there that _could_ be looking for her. But now she knew better, knew she had a family. A family that didn't want her. Claire felt suddenly tired, as if just now realizing how far she had gone on empty.

Sylar looked over at the small blonde beside him. He knew this whole situation wasn't fair, and his mind raced with all possibilities of what could possibly go wrong by bringing her along. But seeing her distraught expression, coupled with the instinct that at any moment she was about to fall over dead asleep, he decided it didn't matter. As a cab pulled up in front of them, Sylar wrapped an arm around Claire's shoulders and felt her lean against him.

"Queens," He told the cab driver as they got in. Sylar felt a dead weight against him a moment later and knew Claire had finally fallen asleep. Right.

He needed a car. With his ability from Bob Bishop it wouldn't be hard to obtain one, and he wanted it to be practical enough for a cross-country journey. And he needed gas, money, maybe a bank account…

Looking at the girl asleep next to him, he also added clothes to his mental list. For her and for himself. It would bring more attention to have her wandering around like this anyway.

Sylar didn't want to feel sympathy for Claire. Really, he didn't. This was just a means to an end for him, for now. But he didn't feel exactly right about holding this entire situation against her while she is completely oblivious to her past. Sylar sighed as the cab pulled up to the familiar apartment. He looked down and noticed Claire was still out cold.

He shook his head before paying the cab driver in cash. Getting out of the car, he reached in to pick Claire up. His arms curled around her knees and supported her back, folding her against his chest. He ignored the pleasant sensation it caused him and continued up to his apartment.

Claire woke up with a start, glancing at her surroundings frantically. She had fallen asleep in some pretty sketchy areas, and was overwhelmed with a sense of relief when she recognized the apartment she was in. She was laying on a small couch and sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Odd, considering last she remembered the sun had been going down. Had she really been asleep for that long?

Claire looked around for a sign of her friend. It was silent in the apartment, something she hadn't gotten used to. Living on the streets meant noise- constantly. The silence of the apartment was almost deafening.

Claire tried to recall how she had gotten here, but the last thing she remembered was leaving her grandmother's house. At that thought, she frowned. She expected more, a lot more. She expected a home or a name or something. Anything. But Sylar told her that it wouldn't work out, that she didn't belong there.

Why did she even trust him so much? Claire wanted to explore that more, but the simplicity of it was that she had no one else to trust. And so far, he was taking care of her. A little rough around the edges, sure. But better than the city that would have eventually eaten her alive.

She heard a noise by the front door and froze, watching the handle of the door jiggle before opening. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Sylar move through the doorway, carrying what looked like groceries and some shopping bags. She got up gingerly from the couch and walked toward him as he juggled the keys in his hands with the bags.

"Here," Claire said, reaching out to take a few of the bags off his hands. "Let me help." She took a few bags before he could say a word and turned to place them in the kitchen she had only been in once before. Sylar stared at her wordlessly, as if not really believing the scene before him. Claire started humming beneath her breath as she unearthed everything he bought. Toiletries mostly, she noticed. Shampoo, conditioner…two razors. Claire raised her eyebrows, wondering why he would need two when a thought struck her.

It was a man's razor and a woman's razor. She placed the items down on the counter before turning to face him, just now realizing he hadn't moved but instead had been watching her noiselessly.

"Did you…." Claire searched for the right words, frustrated when she saw he was amused by her speechlessness. "Did you buy things for me?" Sylar finally moved toward her until he was a few inches away, still carrying a few bags in his hand. Reaching past her, he placed the remaining bags on the counter next to the others and dropped his keys with a clang. Claire stared up at him, not knowing how to even express her gratitude.

Finally Sylar nodded with a smirk, "Well, I hardly have need for a woman's razor so you better hope that's for you." Claire frowned a little, placing a hand on his arm.

"Please, don't joke around. That's….kind of you. To think of me like that. But I can't…" She glanced down next to her at the other items, realizing he had purchased an extra set of almost everything he bought. He stared down at the hand on his arm, and once again a disbelieving and almost surprised look crossed his face. "I can't accept any of this. I don't have money to pay you back. I don't even…I don't even know where to go from here."

Sylar's gaze was almost too intense for Claire. She wanted to push him away, never look at him again for all the emotions he was making her feel. Not lust exactly, and not like either. Just overwhelming gratitude, astonishment and a variety of other things she couldn't sort out. She felt partly guilty for making him take care of her…partly sad because her family wouldn't or couldn't. Partly angry because of the abandonment. But mostly gratitude, towards him. For him.

Sylar brushed her hand away before responding. "You're coming with me. We're going to find my family now." She pulled away from him entirely in surprise.

"Your family? Like your real family? You said you're adopted, right?"

"Right. Your grandmother kindly gave me the means to find my real father." She didn't get his sarcasm. Sylar turned towards the counter to start unpacking the things he had bought. "So you're coming with me."

"But…why?" Claire wrung her hands, watching the facial expressions change on Sylar's face.

"Because." He said after a moment, hesitating as he took the two toothbrushes out of the plastic bag. "Because you have nowhere else to go. And because I want you to come." Sylar's eyes met hers and Claire's breath hitched.

Okay…so maybe she would amend those feelings. There might be some lust in there, a little bit. And maybe some hero worship. But that's okay, she justified. Nothing will happen. He just wants to make sure she doesn't die. Like any normal person.

Sylar broke the gaze first before adding, "And you don't have to worry about paying me back. It's another one of my talents." Claire was reminded of the healed cut beneath the running faucet in this same kitchen.

"Talents? What do you mean? What else can you do?" Sylar rolled his eyes, grabbing one of the shopping bags and thrusting it in her hands.

"Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?" Claire shut her mouth and frowned.

"No," She said softly, avoiding his gaze and accepting the bag without another word. Sylar instantly realized his mistake. Of course no one had told her that, no one had even been talking to her before him. Instantly he felt like a jerk before pushing aside that feeling and gesturing toward the bag in her hands.

"Those are yours. Get changed, we'll leave as soon as you're ready."

"Leave?" She echoed, "So soon?" After the words left her mouth, she instantly wished she could take them back. Didn't he _just_ ask her not to ask so many questions? Instead of getting annoying or mad like she had expected, Sylar just gave her a small smile and grabbed her shoulders to spin her around.

"Go. Change. I'll pack up everything else." Claire went without protest to the back room to where he had given her the clothes she was now wearing.

She placed the shopping bag on the bed and rifled through it, pulling out different pieces of clothing. After emptying the entire back she blushed brightly. He had bought her underwear and a bra, as well as some other normal, everyday clothes that looked as if they would fit.

The items were plain, nothing special. But it didn't stop her from the wave of gratitude that hit her once again. She didn't deserve his kindness…didn't deserve the way he thought of the small things.

She took off the clothes Sylar had loaned her, folding them and putting them back on the bed. Claire inspected the rest of the clothes, before throwing them on. There were a few pairs of jeans, a couple pairs of underwear and some plain v necks in a few colors.

How he knew her size, she had no idea. She didn't want to ask, didn't really care all that much. She put the rest of the clothes back in the bag and brought it back out with her.

Sylar was waiting by the front door with a small duffle bag. He glanced up at her as she walked out, noticing this outfit was much more flattering than his own clothes had been on her.

Not that he didn't appreciate her in his clothes, but he was trying to avoid _that_ road entirely.

Claire paused a few feet away from him and smiled at him shyly. Sylar wanted to roll his eyes at her behavior, wanted to shake her and tell her to be afraid or be angry or be _something_ at him. But he didn't. Because a bigger part of him _wanted_ Claire Bennet to smile shyly at him. Wanted her to touch him casually on the arm, wanted her gratitude and her warmth and her stupid endless questions.

Sylar didn't dwell on this part of him and instead gave her a polite smile back. "Ready?"

"Yep!" She chirped, walking closer to him to open the door. Sylar could tell almost immediately the change that the new clothes brought. She looked…brighter. Better. More herself.

And he didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

Claire stopped as her hand grasped the door handle and she turned around to face him. Once again she noticed their height difference, the way he towered over her. Maybe she shouldn't have liked it, but she did.

"I have a question. Just one more, I swear." Sylar was intrigued, and when he raised his eyebrows in response she continued. "Is your real name really Gabriel?" Sylar regretted allowing her this last question, wanted to be angry at her for bringing it up.

"I heard my grandmother call you that. Gabriel. Like the angel." The phrase took him back to Maya, the Dominican woman he had conned who had said the exact same thing.

Was he manipulating Claire like he was that woman? Maybe. But he wanted this to be different.

Sylar nodded, wondering if this was a mistake, "Yeah. It is."

"I like it." Claire gave him a small smile, "Can I call you that?" Sylar didn't even know how to respond. Did he really want Claire to start calling him by the same name he had given up because of her family? The name that her family used to manipulate him, lie to him?

He opened his mouth and, "That's more than one question, Claire." He pushed past her, brushing her hand aside to open the door and move out into the hallway.

Claire stared at his back, shaking her head. She didn't see the way his face curved into a smile as the door shut behind her.

* * *

:) !


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